Slaughter Is The Best Medicine
by Eurgh
Summary: The Joker has escaped from Arkham and is back to his usual mischief. One-shot. T for death, nothing else.


**Summary: The Joker has escaped from Arkham and is back to his usual mischief.  
Little one-shot, please enjoy!**

**Slaughter Is The Best Medicine**

"P-Please…"

Ah, such fun, when they're like this. He gently touches the tip of his sharp blade, grinning at its little point. Another little frightened whimper comes from behind him.

"Shh, shh, shh!" He turns and pats her cheek in something much more like a slap. "Don't ruin the moment, now, darling. You see, uh… The camera isn't even turned on yet."

She flinches at him. Ah, she's seen the videos. Splendid. He glances overtly at her. A beautiful, blank canvas. What to paint there? There are always so very many options, so many little ways to play with the human mind. Fear, terror, and helplessness are always fun. The shattered human psyche, breathlessly awaiting his next horror- that's a good one too.

He'll settle for fear this time.

After all, this isn't about _her_.

He calmly walks behind her, testing the tight bonds of her rope. She flinches when his skin brushes hers, and he cackles loudly and brightly. Foolish little girl that she is, if she fears _that_ particularly brand of pain from him.

That requires a motivation, a need for something. A need for power or animal lust He can't even _remember _the last time he desired a woman as more than a little body, a little game of death. It's like those thieves, those two-bit mob criminals, have a need for money and influence. That's why they don't understand him, with his distorted grin and maniacal laughter. How could they, how could they see past the greasepaint and lipstick to the chaos inside?

Not that he wants them to. Oh, no, life is _far_ more interesting beings the _freak_. He is an agent of chaos, a fiend of the truest kind, a psychopathic clown without a conscience. It's much more enjoyable, to live life this very interesting way. He _needs_ nothing, nothing but the entertainment he can provide himself with. Money, power, fame, lust- none of it matters, none of it even makes any sense to him.

He gently presses record and the little red light flashes on the video camera. _Blink, blink, blink, blink, blink_. Manic, unwavering, recording his chaos. Ah, technology is rather helpful in this day and age.

It makes getting a message through so very… simple.

"Hel-lo Gotham." He murmurs almost lovingly behind the camera, hidden from view. The sniveling brat- how old is she anyway?- stares mournfully at the camera, at her death. "I suppose you've been, ah… missing me."

She tries uselessly to struggle against her bonds and he lets out his hysterical cackle. It's really not his fault that no one else sees the humor in life the way he does. But, really, how much funnier can it get? She honestly thinks he'd be foolish enough to tie her loosely, or that she could escape in the midst of his little movie? No, no, no, silly girl.

"No worries, love-ly citizens." His voice is high, elated. Of course, escaping from the damned asylum (Arkham or something of the sort; he hardly cares enough to keep it straight) certainly did help his mood.

Things quickly become tedious for him. A fleeting entertainment easily becomes boring as he dreams of his next little venture. The Batman is one of the few things to keep his attention. He likes the unpredictable chaos of the Dark hero, likes to easily guess at his every move before the Bat even knows of his own plan.

He is an agent of chaos. It is his job- nay, his duty- to know the products of this madness he enjoys to create. The Bat is just one of many factors, but oh such fun! He can watch as people go mad, destroy one another. As the Bat fights for goodness in a world where only _wickedness_ exists. He doesn't mind the entertainment.

He's made his dramatic little pause for the video.

"I'm ba-ack." He whispers loudly. "And, this time… No, uh… Bat is going to hel-p you."

He takes a step towards the frightened girl, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips.

"Some of you might-ah not recall…" He tells the camera, his face still hidden as he delicately traces the edge of her skin with the sharp edge of a knife. It's too light to cut, too light to hurt, but it gets the point across. Isn't that what all art is about?

"But I'm a man of my word."

She whimpers as his fingers close around her chin, the knife tucked safely into his sleeve.

"This, for those of you too, uh, stupid to recognize…" He grins behind the camera at the little brat, the sniveling baby. "Is our nearly elec-ted DA's daughter." She flinches and he laughs and laughs behind the camera. Oh, little brat, such fear! "Sure-ly some of you have seen her more wild… party habits. Yes?" He shakes her head yes for her.

Some people simply won't cooperate without a little help.

He grins at her frightened face. As if she matters at all to his plan (for those inquiring minds, those that exist within his own mind, she doesn't). As if she means anything besides a little blood, a little thrill, a little bait to get the Bat involved.

Not that any old person wouldn't have gotten the bat involved. But public figures, those famous, boring people, they catch normal citizens attention too.

And he _does_ love chaos.

"What would Daddy say if he could see you now-ah?" He murmurs sweetly, caressing the sentence as it leaves his mouth. She begins to weep softly, warm salty tears smearing her makeup.

Ah, good girl.

After some time, when she doesn't answer, he frowns at her.

"Now, my dear-ah, I do believe I asked you a question." He lightly slaps her. "It wasn't rhetorical."

"He…" She is consumed by tears, and he pats her back in mock sympathy. "He isn't afraid of you."

He grins widely, and she stares in horror. Oh, yes, those grins distort his face, his scars stretch and bend. With the same distorted, horrific smile on his face, he bends next to her, and angles the camera to include both of them.

"Good. Let the game begin." He grins widely at the lens and cackles, so very amused at his own humor. She whimpers as he presses the knife to her face and stops the recording. Business-like, he stands and sets the camera down.

She is confused. Oh, he loves their confusion most of all. Such fun, so interesting… They never understand when he stops the video and walks away. Will he let me live, their eyes shine with unbidden hope, and he cheerfully crushes it.

"Now, my dear, I'm afraid you have to, uh… become a little part of an experiment."

"W-What?" She blinks through her tears.

"See, I need to find out, uh, what this new DA is like." He grins as if in sympathy with her, apologetic. "Is he like good, ol' Dent? I wouldn't know-ah. I've been locked away, you see."

"I- I can tell you." She says hopefully.

"No, no, no, no." He waves her offer away cheerfully, his voice light and joking. "No, my dear, you're a bit, uh… biased. So, how should I show him our lit-tle pro-duc-tion?" He enunciates each word carefully, a smirk in place. "Should I, uh, send it to the news and let him see it when they, uh, show it?"

She stares at him.

"Or should he receive his own copy?"

"I-"

"That _was_ a rhetorical question." He turns and presses a blade to her throat. "You know, you really should learn to tell the difference."

She is frightened. Mmm.

"What's wrong?" He pauses, as if worried about her, as if she matters as more than a pile of flesh and blood, as if she is more than a passing thrill to bring in the big game. "Let me guess- it's the scars."

"N-"

"Would you like to know how I got them?"

She has heard of him and his stories. How very pleasant. She tries to shake her head no, but he holds her firmly in place and nods his own head.

"Yes? How kind." He pauses, smacking his lips. "I once had a daughter, you know. Pret-ty little thing, like you. She was a good girl. Very ,uh… innocent." He grins at her. "Well, one day, she's walking through our good lit-tle streets of Gotham… And she gets loses that innocence to a small gang of common street thugs." She flinches at the thought and he grins widely.

"Yes, yes, yes, it was all _very_ tragic." He nods for her. "But you see, uh… It ruined her. She killed herself a few months later, leaving _lit-tle_ old me all by my lonesome."

She is engaged now, and it's so very fun when they're engaged. He can guess at what she's thinking; sympathizing with him, realizing that he once loved someone (he didn't, of course, but that's hardly the point). Realizing that he once had something to live for, to lose, to care about. That once he wasn't a freak and once he had _needs_ just like everyone else and a _plan_.

But, of course, this isn't true.

He just likes to mess with their minds.

"So I went after them, for, uh, revenge." He continues the story. She hardly notices as the knife crawls up, to her throat, to her cheek, touching her lips. "When I caught them, er, found them, whatever you'd like to call it… The leader of this little gang demanded to know why I couldn't smile. Why I was so… serious."

He grins, the climax of another lie.

"He took a knife, had some minor thugs hold me down." He pauses to smack his lips. "Stuck the knife in my mouth." He pushes the blade into hers. "And gave me _these_." He drags the blade through her skin. She is jerked suddenly from the story, screaming and shrieking and sobbing with the unexpected pain. He ignores her and calmly works at the other side until a bloody, macabre grin stares at him from her hysterical face.

"Would you like to know what I did to them?" He murmurs in her ear, like a lover. She weeps, unable to answer. "I killed every last one." He pulls the blade across her delicate throat, ending her life. He stands to his feet, wiping the blood on her shirt.

It is his favorite blade after all. Wouldn't want it to rust.

"And now the fun begins." He mutters to himself, setting to work on his latest scheme.


End file.
